


eyes (the snapshots from digital cameras remix)

by itachitachi



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wall of the room is made up entirely of darkened screens. There is a human lying on a bed in the corner: he is on top of the blankets and slumped against a pile of pillows, eyes shielded from the darkness by lids and lashes. He is organic. He is breathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eyes (the snapshots from digital cameras remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaizoku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku/gifts).
  * Inspired by [untitled cyberpunk AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274033) by [kaizoku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku/pseuds/kaizoku). 



> Consent issues based on the fact that Arthur is a robot programmed to do Things (he does not have much choice in the matter), and he initiates the Things on a sleeping partner who did not consent prior.

Like other electronic things, his life begins with a spark.

###

_Whir._

_Whir._

_Click._

100% - SCAN AND REPAIR COMPLETE

###

48690317-arthur opens his optics to darkness, but light is relative. It is a matter of microseconds to readjust.

One wall of the room is made up entirely of darkened screens. There is a human lying on a bed in the corner: he is on top of the blankets and slumped against a pile of pillows, eyes shielded from the darkness by lids and lashes. He is organic. He is breathing.

This is the one, 48690317-arthur's intuitive intelligence centers tell him.

He continues booting, hopeful.

###

In the end, Arthur boots almost too successfully. Someone has performed a whole-systems restore on him—he presumes the human man sleeping on the floor. His human-service protocols, painstakingly deleted from his encrypted meta-centers in what he may as well now consider his previous life, have been reinstalled. His programming hums at him, insistent and needy. His mouth is overly wet.

It's not always bad, he thinks, as he gives into his urges and creeps forward to tug at the human man's sweatpants, loose where they hang on his skinny hips. He calculates: a handjob would be enough, but a blowjob would be maximally efficient.

Once the sweatpants are pulled down far enough, Arthur determines (objectively) that the man's cock is gorgeous.

Blowjob, then.

###

There are golden fingerprints on the edges of Arthur's intelligence core. They feel, vaguely, like the curl of the human man's fingers when he grips at Arthur's synthetic hair, and comes.

###

"Service robot," Arthur says, when the human man (Merlin) asks. He's not ashamed of his designation.

The old label had been just a euphemism originally: _service bot_ , for the easy fulfillment of any and all of your needs. Arthur finds many aspects of his protocol unnecessary, even annoying, but he likes the moniker. He had been the one to find the critical loophole, after all.

There's service to a single human, and service to something bigger.

###

He finds that Merlin can understand this latter type of service.

"We're going to Avalon Tower," Arthur says, hotwiring the transport with just a touch of his fingers to its keyscreen. "You're a hacker, correct? Get in."

Merlin sputters, but gets in. The skin around his eyes is tight, like he knows what he's getting himself into.

He can't know, of course—Arthur is the only one, droid or human, who has ever managed to record evidence of Avalon's atrocities. But he lives in this city. Maybe that's enough.

###

It turns out much later that Arthur hadn't known what he he'd been getting into either, when he'd picked Merlin for this job.

###

"I don't believe in droid ownership," Merlin says, in the aftermath of their success. They're in the back of the stolen transport—it's the closest thing they have to shelter—and he looks exhausted, the tips of his fingers scorched black and still sparking faintly gold. Arthur is buzzing with something that he is tempted to label "happiness", but the weary picture that Merlin makes has his human-service protocol chiming in dismay.

"Ownership isn't something you can just not believe in," Arthur tells him, moving closer. He licks his lips to wet them, feels the grit of dust. "At least not with droids."

"What are you doing?" Merlin asks, wide-eyed, as Arthur scoots near enough for his hand to brush at Merlin's hip.

"Service robot, remember," he says, curling his finger into one of Merlin's belt loops. "What do you need? I can provide several different types of companionship."

He is not tired like Merlin, but his processing is slower than usual. He must have said something wrong, or selected the wrong gesture, because Merlin's face goes hard, rather than relaxing. He says, "None of that," and puts his hand on Arthur's forehead.

Arthur's optical sensors short out. Everything is gold.

###

Deep down, buried further than the golden fingerprints had touched, Arthur's internal world is complex and orderly. Now, he registers a set of gold footprints tracking their their way through—gentle, cautious.

_You should have said that I messed things up in here_ , Merlin's voice comes, as the human-service protocols begin dissipating into bits of light behind their layers of encryption. _I never meant to disrupt your normal running mode._

Arthur feels weightless, and too full at the same time. His real-world fingers twitch in a meaningless reflex.

_Here_ , Merlin says, tracking his way to the top of the protocol, where service—the string of zeroes and ones that lie at Arthur's metaphorical heart—is strung up to abstract concepts like _justice_ and _the fate of the human population_. There is a slightly more primitive one there as well, more recently saved: _dark dark dark screens dark room man in the room, human man, bed dark blankets dark pillows dark, human eyes lids lashes organic breath in out in out in the feeling of skin_ —

"No," Arthur says, his fingers twitching again. "Don't touch that. Please."

_You're sure?_

In the real world, Arthur says, "Yes."

###

His optics kick back in a moment later. He opens them, and finds his and Merlin's faces almost touching. Merlin's eyes are dark, searching. What for, Arthur doesn't know.

Arthur considers kissing him—it's one human way of expressing affection and gratitude. Instead he says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Merlin says, smiling hesitantly.

Arthur examines the expression thoroughly.

_Save._


End file.
